


The Prince of Winterfell

by nanjcsy



Series: The Unforgiven [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Forced Masturbation, Kissing, Lord of Iron Islands, M/M, Prince of Winterfell, Stockholm Syndrome, Thramsay - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/pseuds/nanjcsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a way to make a collection of the descent of Theon Grejoy. I hope this helps get us through till season four!<br/>This first one deals with The Prince of Winterfell and Ramsay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince of Winterfell

The Prince of Winterfell was unable to control the shaking of his body, he could no longer stop the chattering of his shattered teeth and the moans of misery that escaped his lips also were unstoppable now.  When Ramsay came so close, up against him, grinding his own body against the skin, sweat and blood of the Prince, there was no way to stop him, the worst part was, his captor was so very warm. Ramsay was grinding against him, the battered, starved Prince did not want any part of this, but he grew hard, found himself leaning into the warmth anyway.  "Very good, little Lordling, tiny Kraken." Ramsay's voice was gentle, luring, but the words, they stung, each insult burned in him, reminding him who he was again. 

The Prince's face was red with humiliation and his eyes glared, enraged, ashamed.  He was about to inform Ramsay of his title, rank and name again when the flaying knife was suddenly tracing his lips.  Fear overshadowed everything in his eyes and unwillingly he whined. "Open your lips for me, fallen Prince, do not  make me cut your pretty face.  The girls would never look at you again,would they?" Terrified, the little Prince opened his mouth, shivering as the blade gently traced his lips, then his hardening tongue. "Oh, dear.  Look how dehydrated you are! That is not good, you really need some water soon." Ramsay spoke with mock sympathy, and leaned so close that he was almost touching his own knife, still tracing the Prince's tongue.  

"I will let you have some water, if you behave for me.  Do you think you are capable of that?"  He dared not answer while a blade was in his mouth, but he tried to show Ramsay with his eyes that  he would behave, anything for some water.  His captor smiled then took away the blade, then he was leaning so close, and the Prince could not turn away.  When he felt Ramsay's tongue on his lips, he accepted it, he did not protest when Ramsay kissed him, in fact, so desperate for the water, he kissed him back, sobbing, his tongue searching to make his captor happy.  Worse, Ramsay's hips ground against him still, both of them hard now, both moaning now.  A large hand pulled the Prince's breeches down and started to stroke him.  It was too much after so much pain and agony, the disgraced little Prince started to beg.

Ramsay pulled out his own cock, rubbing himself against the Prince, chuckling at the lovely begging Prince.  "Funny, for all those girls, yet here you are, filthy, starved, thirsty, yet you still can only think of sex first, no matter where or who.  You really are a whore, aren't you?  The Prince of Whores is a better title, perhaps?" Yet even as the Prince's head is stuffed full of sarcastic painful laughter, he is like a dog in heat, panting now, moving as much as he can, against Ramsay, needing release.  Ramsay continued to stroke both cocks together, one hand reaches up and grabs the skinny neck of his victim.  "You, whore, are not allowed to come. You do not have that privilege here. If you come, there will be no water, you will have lost again.  Instead of a drink, I will give you a nice scar on your face for the ladies to see."

Whining in sheer agony now, the Prince tried to recall his family, those searing eyes of his father, disowning him from first glance. His sister looking at him with a mixture of pity and disdain.  He thought of every time Robb reminded him he was no Stark.  The Prince thought of how Robb must have felt when he learned of what his best friend had done.  By some miracle, he remained hard, but his haunted head was too full for any real pleasure.  When Ramsay came with a loud groan all over the Prince's groin and thighs, he forced himself not to shudder or gag.  After Ramsay leaned against his prisoner for a moment to breathe, he fixed his breeches, leaving the Prince a mess.  A few moments later he returned with a bucket of water.  Without a word he undid the leather straps, then pulled his victim to the floor.

Ramsay walks over to a chair and sits, grinning.  "You won, little Whore Prince.  Crawl over to me, like a good bitch and you may have some water."  The Prince of pain, of thirst, of shame and guilt wanted to refuse but he was so thirsty.  He forced his aching body onto hands and knees then crawled over to the familiar boots, then with his head hung so low, he waited.  "Oh, very good, tiny kraken.  See, I knew you could behave with some work.  You have so much more training to go through, but I think this is an excellent start.  You may have your reward now." Ramsay picked up the bucket and dumps the water to the floor, causing a huge puddle on the dirty stones, the water leaking into crevices so fast.  "Quick now, Little Prince! Drink! Lick up the water before it gets away! Hurry now!" Ramsay taunted, laughing.  

The filthy, shaking Prince lapped up all the water he could from the stones and felt grateful for it, regardless how he received it.  The shame was still there, the pain was still there, but at least there was water and warmth that only Ramsay could give.  The prince kissed Ramsay's boots, of his own violation, sobbing as he did it.  It pleased his new horrifying God, which was really all that mattered anymore.  What good was the title of Prince if you died of cold and dehydration?  His tormentor smiled and gave the Prince a pat on the head.  With a whimper, the Prince surrendered and Theon leaned his head timidly against Ramsay's boots. The words, the question came from above, softly, deadly. "Are you a Prince?"  The answer was swift and painful. "No, I am not a prince."

**Author's Note:**

> more to come. hope you guys will like this little collection!


End file.
